


Goldilocks and the Honeybear

by Jaye_Voy



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Adult Content, M/M, Parody, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6505849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaye_Voy/pseuds/Jaye_Voy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A twist on an old tale, involving Voyager's resident studmuffins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goldilocks and the Honeybear

**Author's Note:**

> Bad, bad fic ahead. You've been warned. This is a bit of fluff so the title won't go to waste. I really don't remember the fairy tale that well, so my apologies for not even ripping it off accurately.  
> Originally written in 2002. Although there are some tweaks, the story's contents (and its flaws) are mostly intact.  
> Star Trek and all related characters and concepts are the property of Paramount. No infringement is intended or profit made. This is PG-13 for suggestions of m/m sex.

PART ONE

Once upon a time there was a not-so-young man named Tom Paris. He  
had a reputation as one most curious. Now, that doesn't mean that  
he was at all strange; he was congenitally inquisitive---and just  
wouldn't change. He stuck his cute little nose where it didn't  
belong, into gossip and plots, so many things then went wrong. He  
had bright blond hair hence "Goldilocks" became, his widespread and  
often snickering nickname. He didn't like it, he tried to complain,  
but he's not writing the story so he argued in vain.

Tom lived in a far away part of the universe known as the Delta  
Quad, on the good ship Voyager rather than on water or sod. He had  
a rather nice cabin right on Deck 4, complete with standard-issue  
furniture and his very own replicator. But Tom wasn't happy, not  
one little bit. Many nights he'd brood with none of the lights lit.

It was true, his crewmates no longer had murder or even anger in  
their eyes. And Tom gets to sit at the helm when Voyager flies. He  
had two shiny pips on his collar (which he kept polished to a  
bright sheen), while most of his colleagues only had one or none at  
all to be seen.

He had many imaginary friends crafted by his own dainty hands (that  
never did dishes). And even one or two real pals---you'd think he'd  
been granted all of his wishes.

But still Tom had no joy. He didn't know what to do about it, so he  
went exploring, such a naughty not-so-little boy.

He wandered up and down and back and forth, along the decks and  
around the halls. He peered into nooks and crannies uncaring of who  
might live within each set of walls.

By the time he reached a Cargo Bay it was time to rest. Three chairs  
sat in the middle of the floor, as if complying with his request.  
They had just been cleaned by the nameless souls in Ship's  
Maintenance, (which was a fancy way of saying people of  
Janitorial acquaintance). The chairs were soon to be sent back to their  
owners, one knows. But in the meantime they'd do just fine to rest  
poor Tom's weary toes.

The first was a strange contraption that looked remarkably like a  
Sickbay biobed. Despite the resemblance, Tom took the chance and  
hopped on the elongated gurney-sled.

And jumped right back off again, rubbing his throbbing posterior.  
The surface was way too hard, and too cold to consider. "Who would  
sit on that uncomfortable thing?" Tom wondered, still smarting.

"The Doctor," the computer helpfully replied. "When he's done all  
his medical charting."

With a snort, Tom of the golden locks went to the next chair. It was  
full of frills and ruffles, like a pink pouff full of air. But he  
was irritated by the rutching and all that sewing stuff. He stood  
up and marched away in a huff. He declared, "This is too much  
fluff---who created those bows and that bunting?"

"Kes," said the ever-present machine, "and now she's out  
bobbin-hunting."

Tom shook his head and trudged over to choice number three. A warm  
geometric print covered a frame of wood from a tree. Cautiously  
buttocks met cushion, a perfect fit. Tom sighed and relaxed,  
letting his body sink into it. "This is just right. I need to get  
one of these. Whose is it, would you now tell me please?"

"The chair belongs to Commander Chakotay." The voice replied  
immediately, without any delay.

Tom frowned and wondered if a computer could sound disapproving.  
Perhaps he needed to get himself grooving. After all, no one messed  
with the owner of this sturdy chair. Out of earshot Chakotay was  
universally known as "the Bear". Far out of earshot, is where the  
speaker would abide---if that speaker liked to keep all of their  
hide.

Tom sat for a good fifteen minutes, then gave in to trepidation. He  
scurried away, without procrastination. Hoping that Chakotay never  
would see, a recording of his illicit chair-sitting---or three.

***************

PART TWO

Goldilocks---Tom glared at the sound of the hated nickname---stalked  
down the corridor, his brain aflame. He was hungry enough to eat his  
own boot. While he often was finicky, right now he'd eat anything  
not laden with leola root.

The doors of the Mess Hall opened wide. He drifted on the aromas  
that floated inside. Tomato soup---his favorite dish, or bowl, or  
tureen---if such a quantity could possibly be seen.

Tom sped to a table graced by three bowls, each filled to the brim.  
Carmine ambrosia, more than he'd make on a whim. Behind the first  
serving rested the picture of a strange little man. Polka-dot clad  
and tufted-haired, he grinned like the biggest ham. Tom picked up  
his spoon and took a good sip, careful not to stain his curving  
pink lip.

Then he suddenly spit in a terrible snit. "That's too hot!" he  
yelled loud and long as he ran to the tap. The water so cold was a  
balm to his tongue, to which too many spices had seemed like a  
slap.

Tom cautiously approached the middle exhibit, backed by a picture of  
a Vulcan who did his emotions inhibit. Bravely venturing forth with  
utensil in hand, Tom scooped up a serving of the thick reddish  
liquid, wondering if it was bland.

"Bleah," was his comment as he set down the congealing goo. "This is  
too cold, and I'll bet he is too." He wrinkled his nose at the  
unacceptable selection, then sidled down to the final soup for his  
taste detection.

"Uh-oh," Tom said, then added a swear. He very well knew that shiny  
black hair. Bronze skin beautifully glowed, and the graceful tattoo  
clearly showed: This soup belonged to "the Bear"---so he'd better  
beware.

Tilting his nose and his lips and his chin, the daring blond man  
gripped his spoon and dug in. "Aaahhh...." he sighed as his palate  
applauded. Here was tomato soup fit to be lauded. The delicate  
flavors in Tom's mouth did bloom---why did Chakotay waste time  
making soup mushroom?

Tom finished the bowl and then licked it clean. He left, once more  
hoping he hadn't been seen.

***************

PART THREE

The fair-haired one wandered into his own creation. "Sandrine," he  
demanded, "Provide me with libation!"

The sassy French madame gave him a look. "You know you owe money, so  
no booze 'til you make book!"

"Isn't there anything at all you'd give me for free?" Tom's  
puppy-dog expression made the lady go see.

"I have some drinks set aside, Thomas, for when people come  
calling."

"Then give them to me, Sandrine, and please no more stalling."

The first was a cup full of dark red booze. Tom took one tiny  
taste---"Yuck, what's this bitter ooze?"

"It's Mademoiselle B'Elanna's favorite, Klingon blood-wine."

"If I don't taste that ever again, my life'll be just fine."

Tom took the next glass, and sniffed a delicate bouquet. But the  
taste was disappointing, "Far too sweet, I'd have to say."

"That's Monsieur Harry's own vintage, surely you knew?"

Tom said, "I suppose some people like it, but it's just not my  
brew."

Sandrine frowned and said, "I'm not sure I should give you this, it  
belongs to the Commander."

Tom snatched Chakotay's private drink, and gulped it without a  
gander.

"Oh my," he breathed, as the liquid went down, "This is the best  
thing I've tasted in any town."

"It's a blend of fruit juices, mulled with spices, I believe."  
Sandrine saw Tom finish it all and said worriedly, "You'd better  
leave."

"I think you're right, Chakotay won't be happy," Tom said, "but I  
hope he makes more, and it's done really snappy."

Tom wondered if stealing a drink was a killing offense, then left  
for the protection of environs more dense.

***************

PART FOUR (CONCLUSION)

"Bedtime," Tom said, but didn't seek out his room. He knew the  
emptiness would fill him with gloom.

Back to the Cargo Bay to visit with Seven Tom strove, but Goldilocks  
found no one inside the Borg alcove.

"I guess I'll try it out," Tom said as he stepped up to machinery  
glowing neon lime. "I won't have to get out of bed---surely that  
will save time."

After only a few minutes, he knew it wasn't for him. "You couldn't  
get me to sleep here on a bet---or a whim."

It wasn't just that he found it uncomfortable. To be in an ex-Borg  
embrace was worse than a tentacle (completely untenable).

Tom wandered to the largest cabin in size. But going in he just  
didn't think would be wise.

"I simply can't do it, even to save my soul eternal. The Captain for  
me is just too maternal."

He shuddered and slipped past Kathryn Janeway's door. But as he  
neared the next cabin, he heard a fierce roar.

"Get in here, you sneak thief, you foulest of fiends!" Chakotay  
screamed. He pulled Tom in so fast, his speed-addled brain careened.

"Just why are you yelling?" Tom said, ready to lie. Unfortunately,  
lust made his brain cells start to fry.

He was staring at a muscled bronze specimen of man. A barely clad  
one whose naked waist he'd surely love to span. Silky skin to  
stroke, dusky nipples to tease, and under the boxers, a package  
sure to please.

But it seemed Chakotay the Bear was of his charms unaware. He folded  
his arms, angry and sore. "Tell me, Paris, are you rotten to the  
core?

"You sat in my chair---don't deny it, I pray," Chakotay's brown eyes  
snapped as he said, "I've got your DNA."

The angry shout Tom just barely heard. All that mattered was the  
full mouth that formed each word.

"Then you ate my soup---how could you do it? I was entered in the  
contest, but thanks to you I blew it."

Tom licked his own lips, but not in memory. He planned to learn  
Chakotay's taste---every category. Sweet lips, salt musk, and if he  
was blessed, a bountiful yield of creamy goodness.

"And to top it all off, you drank my fruit juice." Chakotay  
continued, "Tell me now, Paris, have you got a screw loose?"

Screw, yes, that's such a good idea, Tom thought. I'll even let you  
go first, like a gentleman ought.

"Please hear me, Chakotay, I can't say I regret it, for I've  
realized something so profound I won't forget it."

"What are you talking about, Tom?" the delicious man asked. In the  
concerned glow of his eyes Goldilocks happily basked.

"I know that you're not an angry beast, or usually so rude. You're  
just lonely like I am, it's put you in a bad mood." Tom made the  
declaration as he stripped off his shirt.

Chakotay just stood there, his eyes full of hurt. "Is that why you  
stole from me, because you knew? That there was no way I could ever  
injure you?"

"Forgive me Chak, I know I was a bad boy before. But all these tests  
proved that it's you I adore." Tom stepped forward, trying his best.  
He rested one pale hand on a sleek honey-brown chest.

Tom said, "Your chair is perfect, to cuddle on and kiss. To be in  
your arms for me would be bliss."

He looked into eyes so deep and so warm, "And the fact you can cook  
doesn't do any harm. Not to mention that drink---though so wonderful  
to savor, I know it won't come close to your lips' luscious  
flavor."

Tom caressed the skin of chest, neck, and cheek. He was almost too  
overwhelmed to speak. "There's one last test, one more thing to  
check."

Chakotay guessed Tom's next thought, "Before you can move to my  
deck? Perhaps you'd like to spend the night in my bed. To see if  
you're comfortable, and know where our hearts led. And to be honest, I'd  
very much like you to stay. Not too long, just forever and a day."

"You're a sweetheart, Chakotay, I knew it for sure. I was soulsick  
and joyless, but you are my cure."

Their smiles then warmed the room like the sun. Tom was sure from  
this moment they'd only have fun.

Yes, Goldilocks knew that he and Chakotay would be perfect together.  
They'd build a love that all seasons would weather.

They'd make love soon and for the rest of time. United forever,  
their lives intertwined.

And there was no question their bodies would fit, Like two puzzles  
pieces, so tightly they'd knit. Not too large or small, too soft or  
tight. Not too rough or hard---no, they'd feel just right.

Tom said, "I love you, Chakotay, and this I swear. Forever I'll be  
your Goldilocks, if you'll be my Honeybear!" And so they departed  
from our view, to pledge a love both timeless and new.

Now we have reached the end of our story so let's put out the light,  
and wish the two sweeties a long kiss Good Night.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcomed with great joy and constructive criticism treasured as a rare gift.


End file.
